Watcher Divided

What would a hero risk to save an innocent? His life? His soul?
Phoenix locked down his addiction to dark magic and rejected his witch heritage millennia ago, but when he's the only warrior suited to help a suffering friend, the temptation is too great to ignore. He believes he can access that dark part of himself to save another and survive unscathed. His brothers aren't so sure.

Despite decades of effort, Storm Queen never quite fits in. Is it an adoption thing? A witch thing? Is it because she’s bound to the hotel and hasn’t been outside in years? When a beautiful, mountain of a man visits her in her dreams, her questions grow more urgent and her desires more undeniable. When she shows up in real life, her world is blown apart.

Phoenix sat back on his heels, hands relaxed on his
muscled thighs, his mind clear of all worry and guilt. Tonight was the night.
It had to be. He hated lying to Seth. Helping Jules’s kid through his time of
transition was important, no argument, but he and Seth didn’t keep
secrets—ever—not even to spare the other pain. They’d vowed that to one another
a long time ago, when secrets had nearly killed them both.

At the thought of their past, his chest tightened.
Damn. This assignment was dredging up shit he thought he’d dealt with centuries
ago. So much for meditating himself to inner peace.

At this rate, he’d never get upstairs.

Taking another stab at it, Phoenix drew a cleansing
breath and focused on the pentacle portal mosaic on the far wall of the chapel.
The gateway to the Choir was a thing of beauty. Ringo, the teen artist and most
recent addition to their dysfunctional Nephilim brotherhood, came through for
Zander on all the artistic contributions to the new family home.

Despite knowing Ringo possessed divine talents, they
were no less awed by the kid’s mad skills. Danel’s pride burned even hotter
because not only was the kid his Nephilim brother, they were both the cast-off
begotten of the Archangel Gabriel.

That made them blooded brothers. Like him and Seth.

Well, not exactly like them. He and Seth were
even more than blooded brothers. They were twins—two essential parts making up
one solid unit.

And he was lying to him. Yep. What an asshole he was.

Shit, keeping things from his other half cleaved his
heart in two. Phoenix’s chest tightened further still. Damn, he needed to quiet
his mind, or he wasn’t going anywhere.

Giving up on finding his Zen, he rose from the
meditation circle in the center of the room and pulled out the big guns—

Tai Chi.

After focusing on his breathing, he stretched his
hands out before him and swung his body in controlled movement. He let his mind
go free, his body taking over in the repetitive stages of movement his muscles
knew by rote.

As he eased around the room, he took in the
surroundings:

Golden flames pulsed atop the wide pillar candles on
the altar table. Ancient tomes of Enoch lined the hickory cabinets and lent him
strength. The image of Lady Divinity filled him with love and devotion.

Everything about the design of this chapel brought
them to spiritual harmony. Far more than the chapel on the second floor of
Zander’s club.

Trying to connect with your core self and silence the
beasts within was difficult with dark-electronica and cries of orgasms
thrumming from the hedonist club below.

This room emitted serenity. Grace.

The soothing strength of their patron lady herself. He
focused on the candles—the glow of the flames, the aura of heat they gave off.

His beast grew still, the constant war within called
to a temporary truce. He completed the circuit, padded barefoot past the altar,
lit a hickory stick, and then made his way to the seven-foot closed pentacle on
the far wall.

With reverent precision, he touched the flame to each
wick of each golden candle affixed to the five points of the pentacle.

Turning to face the room, he stepped into the closed
circle of the portal. The tiny colored tiles of the mosaic were cool and smooth
on his bare back. He entered the sacred space as per tradition: left foot,
fire; right-hand, air; left-hand, water; right foot, earth. When his head
touched the wall behind him, in the position of spirit, he closed his eyes and
recited the incantation.

By the closed pentagram I bear

By Water, Fire, Earth, and Air

Ruled by Spirit as all should be

I speak my vow, so mote it be

Admit me Powers to your realm

As trials on earth seek to whelm

I pledge myself to Lady Devine

And serve her will, till end of time.

A recent frequent flyer in the realm of Powers, the
portal guardians didn’t even blink at his arrival. When his footing solidified
on the arrival podium, he stepped down, claimed one of the golden tunics from
the wall, and slipped into the transition zone.

He had the drill down pat. Get nakey, have all his
parts and pieces tickled and blown under the ethereal air vents, and then don
the sacred robe of ‘visitor’ to the realm of Powers.

Once decontaminated enough to share the oxygen of the
angels, of course.

After tying the silk rope belt, folding his pants, and
sliding his belongings into a cubby, he checked himself in the mirror. It was
bizarre to see himself untouched by his warrior life.

Here, he bore no scars, tattoos, or hints of his
disability.

Being amongst the heavens meant he was whole again. It
gave him a glimpse of the man he could have been if life had been different.

“You are late, warrior.”